


More Like Dancing

by Terrie



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrie/pseuds/Terrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after. Originally written for Isidore Black in the Yuletide 2006 Challenge. This version's been cleaned up a bit, but no major changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Like Dancing

The kid was back. From where he sat in the corner, Curt could see him at one of the back tables. Kid was a beer drinker. Curt turned back to his guitar. Acoustic. Maybe it was a sign he was getting old. He strummed a few chords, then frowned and adjusted one of the strings.

Curt looked up and the kid was there, leaning against the edge of the table. He had his beer in one hand, and Curt could see the damned pin peeking out from beneath his jacket.

"I don't really think 'acoustic' when I think 'Curt Wild.'"

"Yeah, well, we all have to grow up sometime."

"If this is grown-up, maybe I should have taken Neverland." The kid looked around the bar. "Be a lot more exciting than this."

"Is that what that stunt the other night was about? Excitement?" asked Curt. "Because I got a call from some seriously pissed off people wondering if I was the one who had blabbed."

"The only one who blabbed on Tommy was Tommy. He hasn't changed as much as he'd like to think. You can tell them that if they call again."

"I'll do that. What about you? He can be a vindictive bastard. You should be careful."

The kid grinned. "No one was crazy enough to run the story. Not even my boss. If he comes after me, that might change."

The kid's grin had a wicked edge to it. Curt couldn't help but grin back. "Good for you. What was your name again?"

"Arthur Stewart."

"Well, Arthur Stewart, what are you going to do now?"

Arthur sat his beer on the table. "I don't know. But I'm thinking I might go home and smash all my Brian Slade records."

Curt sat his guitar back in its case and leaned forward, elbows resting on the edge of the table. "You a Slade fan?"

"When I was younger." The kid - Arthur - shrugged. "But you have to grow-up sometime, right?"

"Right. Besides, glam is dead." Curt chuckled. "We even had a funeral."

"I know. I was at the concert."

"You were?" Curt looked him over. "Maybe I saw you there."

"You probably did. I worked for the Flaming Creatures."

"Huh. Small world."

"Yeah." Arthur's beer was almost empty. He stood, leaving it on the table. "I have to head out. Maybe I'll see you around?"

Curt grabbed his guitar case. "I'll walk you out."

"You don't have to do that."

"It's no problem. Anyway, you stirred up quite a hornet's nest, and there's safety in numbers."

Arthur held the door open for him. "I really do hope you don't get into trouble because of me."

"Don't worry about it. This is the most interesting thing to happen to me all year. And you're probably right. He can't afford to make too big of a fuss." They walked silently for about a block before Curt said, "So you were in England back then."

Arthur laughed. "I know it's faded a bit, but I thought the accent was something of a giveaway."

"You're right. That was a dumb thing to say."

"No, it wasn't. Well, maybe a little. Don't worry, I won't hold it against you."

"Thanks."

"No problem." Arthur smiled. This time, there was no edge to it; his expression was open and free. He turned away from Curt's scrutiny and pointed down one side street. "I live this way."

Curt looked down the side street and then down the street they were walking along. "I guess this is where we part ways."

"If you want. Otherwise, you could come back to my place, help me break those records."

"You were serious about that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so." Arthur took a few steps backwards. "You coming or going?"

"What the hell." Curt followed Arthur. "It's been a while since I destroyed anything. So you were with the Flaming Creatures?"

"Just lift and carry work. Nothing fancy. But it kept me fed, guaranteed me a place to sleep, and I met a lot of interesting people."

"Like that guy, Curt Wild, right?"

"Right. Like him."

"Did we actually ever meet? Because a lot of that time is hazy for me. Too many drugs. One of the reasons I gave them up."

"Yeah, we actually met."

"I'm not making an ass of myself by not remembering, am I?" asked Curt.

"No. Don't worry about it." Arthur stopped and pointed to one building across the street. "This is my place."

The building was older, only four stories and made of red brick, not the more current concrete. Curt followed Arthur across the street. Not much traffic this time of night. The door was glass, crisscrossed with safety wire. Arthur opened it and waved him in. "After you."

Curt looked around the entryway. "No elevator?"

"No. But I'm on the second floor, so it doesn't matter much."

Arthur led him up the stairs and to his apartment. Curt's first thought was that the place was awfully bland. No rugs, no pictures on the wall. Furniture was limited to a couch and a TV, one antennae bent at an angle. Arthur looked around and blushed slightly. "It's mainly just a place to sleep. I spend most of my time at work."

"No judgment here." Curt sat his guitar case down just inside the door. "You going to give me the tour?"

"Sure." Arthur pointed to each room in turn. "This is the living room. That's the bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Water's fine. Where should I stick my coat?"

"Just toss it on the couch." Arthur came out of the kitchen. "Here's your water."

"Thanks." Curt's fingers brushed against Arthur's as he took the glass. "So, where are these records we're supposed to be breaking?"

"I keep my records in the bedroom." Curt followed Arthur, staying in the doorway, while Arthur went inside. The bedroom has a lived-in look that the living room lacked. There was a large desk in one corner, a computer sitting atop it. The bed was a single, the sheets and blanket piled at the foot. Arthur crouched in front of the closet. The position made his pants gap at the back of his waist. Curt looked away, taking a drink of his water.

Arthur pulled about six records out of the closet. "I used to have more, but some of them didn't survive the move here."

Curt took the records and flipped through them. He paused and held one up. "You actually bought this?"

"Oh, Lord." Arthur blushed. "I think I was going through a 'complete' stage at the time. I was trying to own everything, good and bad."

"This is a good place to start, then." Curt slipped the record out of its sleeve.

Arthur took the record. He gripped the edges in both hands and then stopped.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Curt said.

"I know. And I do want to. But, it's just... I'm throwing away my youth."

"Not all of it. Just the parts you don't need anymore." Curt placed his hands over Arthur's. "It's up to you."

Arthur's hands flexed slightly beneath Curt's. "I can do this."

The record broke in half with a sudden snapping sound. Arthur shivered a little. "Give me another one."

"Are you all right?"

"Curt, give me another one. Please."

After the first one, Arthur didn't hesitate. Not until the last record. He stopped and ran one finger over the label. "This is the record that got me kicked out of my house."

Curt didn't say anything, just waited and watched Arthur's face.

"I knew it was going to happen sooner or later. So it wasn't a surprise when my father finally did it. My mum didn't back him up. That was a surprise. In the end, she loved me more than she hated what I was doing."

"Your mum sounds like a good woman."

"She was. She died about two years ago. I flew home for the funeral, where my father told me it was my fault she was dead. I haven't been back since." Arthur heaved the record against the wall. The pieces fell silently to the carpet. Arthur followed them down, ending up curling in on himself, knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs.

"Are you all right?" Curt found himself asking once more.

"I don't know."

Curt sat down next to him. "How do you feel?"

"Tired.... Just tired." Arthur leaned his head against Curt's shoulder. "Do you miss Brian?"

Curt put an arm around Arthur's shoulders as he thought it over. His first impulse was to lie, but, really, that was too much trouble. "I miss him, but not in the way you're thinking. Back then, I'd replaced heroin with methadone. And then I met Brian, and I replaced methadone with him. So, I miss Brian the way I miss heroin."

Arthur's arms went around Curt's waist. "Sometimes, life isn't fair."

"No, it's not." Curt rested his cheek against Arthur's hair. "But we're still here, so we win."

"Yeah." Arthur turned his face into Curt's neck.

"Arthur..."

"Please, Curt. It's been so long."

"Has it?"

"So very, very long." Arthur's lips brushed against his skin.

Curt knew about long times. For him, it had been so long he'd need a calendar to be more accurate. Which probably explained why he was slipping his hands down that inviting gap at the back of Arthur's pants even while he was thinking it was a bad idea. The skin at the small of Arthur's back was warm and smooth. Curt worked his hand under the layered shirts Arthur wore, running his hands up his spine.

Arthur had simply shoved Curt's shirt up to his armpits. With his hands still tangled up in Arthur's cloths, Curt really couldn't do anything more than go with it. Unfortunately, when Arthur leaned in to tongue his nipples, he also couldn't do anything to catch himself as they fell back onto the carpet. Any thoughts of protest went right out of his head when Arthur added teeth to his tongue. Still...

"Wait, wait. Stop."

Arthur froze. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have -"

"It's fine. I just can't move my arms." He leaned forward to press his lips to Arthur's. "Just let me get free, okay?"

It took longer than it should have, because Arthur was trying to take his shirt off even as Curt was trying to get untangled from the same piece of clothing. When they're both finally free, Arthur paused, bare-chested and straddling Curt's hips. He smiled slightly. "This is different than last time."

"What last time?"

Arthur shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

"Sure, it does. Otherwise, you wouldn't have mentioned it."

Arthur traced a pattern over Curt's chest with one finger. "I was on something the night of the Death of Glitter concert. Were you?"

Curt frowned. "Probably. Just something to take the edge off. Why?"

"Maybe that's why you don't remember meeting me." Arthur didn't look at Curt's face, focusing instead on the finger that still traced lines across his chest.

Curt studied Arthur's face carefully, thinking hard before breaking into a grin. "You look different. Older."

"After ten years? I should hope so."

"So I thought you said I wasn't making an idiot of myself by not remembering."

"Well, I figured you'd probably slept with a lot of fans, where as I only ever slept with one rock star."

"That's... Well, okay, that's actually true. Still, that night was the end of an era, wasn't it?" Curt pulled Arthur down for a kiss. "It's a strange, small world, isn't it?"

"Yeah. And you were right."

"About what?"

"I'm not giving up all my youth. Just the parts I didn't need any more."


End file.
